


but i can't see a thing in the sky (i only have eyes for you)

by Patcho418



Category: RWBY
Genre: 1950's, 50's AU, F/F, First Kiss, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:20:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26496271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Patcho418/pseuds/Patcho418
Summary: (A reupload of a fic I deleted accidentally)Weiss, Pyrrha, Yang, and Blake go to the drive-in, but Weiss gets a different kind of thrill.50's AU Playlist
Relationships: Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long, Pyrrha Nikos/Weiss Schnee
Comments: 4
Kudos: 39





	but i can't see a thing in the sky (i only have eyes for you)

“Here we are, girls!” Yang chirps as Pyrrha pulls the car up into one of the spots in front of the screen. “This flick’s gonna be bitchin’!”

Weiss rolls her eyes. “Maybe you two will actually pay attention to the movie instead of playing back seat bingo.”

“Sure thing, Weiss,” Yang replies with maybe a bit too much heat in her voice; Weiss slumps back in her seat and ignores the sight of Yang in the rear-view shooting Blake a quick wink that her best friend can’t help but giggle at.

“Hey, you two won’t be necking in my car. You dig?” Pyrrha shouts back.

Yang winks at her and flashes her a quick thumbs-up. “I dig!”

Pyrrha nods, and Weiss’ attention returns to the big silver canvas in front of them, reflecting orange from the sunset against her eyes, and she moves to shield them from the light and silently curse how long it takes for the sun to set in summer.

Pyrrha turns to Weiss with pressed lips and a creased brow. Weiss turns to face her, offering some reprieve from the bright sun as her vision settles on Pyrrha’s face, tracing the curve of her sharp red eyebrows down to the high bridge of her smooth nose as it points perfectly towards her lips, made up in red and catching the fire of the sky in their glossy shimmer.

Weiss feels a pang in her chest, feels a constricting force in her throat that chokes her breath into the faintest whimper. She’s suddenly small again, young and dumb and way in over her head as her eyes continue to focus on how summer dances against her lips like lights on a patio, like sparkles on the prom dance floor, like candles lighting up dark winter nights.

It’s definitely a distraction, she thinks, and probably a little more than obvious to Pyrrha, but she can’t help but want to take all of her in through those lips. She can see herself against them, imagining how Pyrrha tastes in her mouth and how well their tongues fit together and what breathing her in feels like in her chest—she already knows the answer, and the answer is ‘free’, but she could always feel a little freer than she does just daydreaming about this.

But it’s nothing but a daydream, and Weiss—as forward as she is—just can’t muster up that little bit of courage she needs, that morsel she had barely a week ago when Pyrrha gave her a ride home and she planted an excited kiss against her cheek. Does Pyrrha even know how Weiss feels?

(Does Weiss?)

“Um, Weiss?”

She's brought out of her own mind by Pyrrha’s voice, sweet as it is and gosh she could sing her own love songs about it. She blinks away the bits of a dream still floating in her mind before focusing on Pyrrha again, this time at her eyes and far far _far_ away from those lips.

“Yes?” she asks innocently, though by the expression she sees on Yang’s face in her periphery, she’s not exactly selling it.

Still, Pyrrha’s kind and offers her a gentle smile. “You look a little…red in the face. You okay?”

"I’m fine!” Weiss answers almost immediately, her cheeks becoming flush with embarrassment at her little outburst.

Her eyes quickly dart to Yang, who’s still managing to stifle her laughter, then to Blake who is very much in the same state, and finally away to the bright screen; she’s thankful that it’s a least a little darker outside, though not by much, and she reckons maybe they should have chosen a later showtime for Demon of the Deep.

From the edge of her vision, she sees Pyrrha lean back in her seat restfully, and Weiss _wishes_ she could be even half as relaxed as she seems right now. And why shouldn’t she? She’s Pyrrha Nikos, the coolest girl in West Vale, member of the Four Maidens, and that’s only her reputation. The woman herself is like a bronze statue, gleaming muscles under the sun and strong, perfect features. Weiss finds herself far too often preoccupied by the slightest bulges of her biceps under black leather and the press of her strong calves against tight denim, and even more often preoccupied with that shine in her emerald eyes, kind and just and way too distracting when Weiss could really use a clear mind.

But Pyrrha isn’t dangerous, as distracting as she can be. Pyrrha is the last thing dangerous would be, and she’s the first thing noble would be. She’s like the heroes in the stories that Oobleck has them read about and write essays about—Weiss reckons if she were, she’d be able to hand in an A+ paper and still find herself wanting to write more.

Pyrrha is amazing and beautiful and when Weiss peers over again out of curiosity, she’s smiling contently to herself as she looks forward to the screen.

Relaxed.

Right.

Weiss has to relax.

She straightens her back against the seat and adjusts the hem of her dress for maybe the fifth time since she left the house (lord only knows how many times she did it while getting ready) and faces forward as well, attempting to match the expression Pyrrha wears. It’s not exactly easy, matching Pyrrha, when even her own brain mentioning her name sends her heart racing like a Buddy Rich drum beat.

And clearly she’s not very good at hiding it.

Weiss feels a tap on her shoulder and she turns around to see Yang smiling devilishly at her. “Need a hit, queen?”

“Yang!” Blake pipes up. “Weiss doesn’t smoke!”

“I could if I wanted to,” Weiss interjects confidently; it’s a false confidence, but she doubts Yang can tell the difference.

Warm fingers wrap around her other shoulder, and she looks over to Pyrrha, who’s eyeballing Weiss curiously. “Do you want to, though?”

“I…no, not really.” She can’t lie to Pyrrha, not to try and fit in with the three other girls in this car who all seem so sure of themselves. It’s not her, and she’s not going to make it her.

Still, Weiss expects maybe laughter or taunting from Yang, but instead is met with a soft hum. “It ain’t for everyone, queen. It’s cool!”

She’s absolutely thankful that Blake meant it when she said they were good people.

“Thank you,” she says gently with her voice directed towards Yang and her heart directed at the woman still holding gently onto her.

Blake’s eyes suddenly flash with interest as she glances past Weiss and Pyrrha, orange dancing in her own amber eyes. “Hey, girls! The flick’s starting!”

Yang beams as she pulls herself closer to Blake, who immediately tucks herself under her girlfriend’s arm and places her head in the crook between her shoulder and neck. Her lips spread into a content smile as Yang rests her own cheek against Blake’s hair, placing a soft kiss against one of her ears that flicks with the contact.

Bright white joins the mix of orange as Weiss turns to the screen, her own heart now beating with longing. It’s like a movie, how those two just fell in love. The meet-cute. The subtle and not-so-subtle flirting. The fact that Weiss can absolutely see Blake popping her leg anytime Yang kisses her. They’re the perfect silver-screen couple, and it’s not exactly what Weiss wants, but maybe—just maybe—she wouldn’t mind the spotlight for her own heart.

Of course, only if Pyrrha agrees to that at all.

Weiss doesn’t doubt she’d spend her whole life loving Pyrrha if she let her.

It’s the way she looks at Weiss, so full of affection that she can’t quite place, that makes Weiss wonder when her role call will come. She’s been patient, she’s answered questions about herself she could’ve pushed down to be able to say she’s with someone but not mean it in her heart. Isn’t it time the scripts had something for her, too?

Pyrrha leans close as pictures begin to roll onto the screen, and Weiss can’t help but hold her breath while leaning closer. “Are you excited? Nora said this one was fab!”

“I guess you could say so!” Weiss lies—Demon of the Deep is maybe the last thing she wanted to see, but Yang and Pyrrha were adamant and Blake? Well, Blake was probably just looking for a moment in the passion pit with her girl; the thought crosses Weiss’ mind, and she reckons a bit of making out _could_ be a little bit of fun.

Of course, she doesn’t want Pyrrha to think she’s easy. Sure, she knows her gang aren’t hooligans in any way, but she still has some kind of reputation to keep, even if that reputation is ‘disgraced lesbian daughter of one of the biggest recording label owners in the country’.

Pyrrha hums curiously and leans even closer. “If you want, I can hold your hand during the scary parts?”

Oh.

That’s how it feels to shut down completely when your crush says something you really like. Gone is the drum beat of her heart and the heat of her cheeks, replaced by the singular feeling of a smirk breaking across her lips.

“Okay.” And this time, it’s not a lie.

* * *

“They’re necking, Pyrrha,” Weiss grumbles awkwardly. “They’re necking and it’s barely been ten minutes.”

Pyrrha nods, grimacing as Blake and Yang’s obnoxiously noisy make-out session continues. Weiss rolls her eyes; of course they just wouldn’t be able to keep their lips off of each other for more than ten minutes. The movie had barely begun rolling by the time they were obnoxiously giggling at each other, the credits had just ended when the flirting went from ‘appropriate in public’ to ‘please don’t say that in public’, and now?

Ten minutes in, and Weiss reckons she might just have to take Pyrrha up on her offer because nothing’s scarier than your best friend and her girlfriend making out in the backseat of your crush’s car and not knowing just how far they’ll go. Not even cheap, rubbery monsters.

Weiss presses her lips together as she tries to focus on the flick. It’s cheap, undoubtedly, with what is so clearly a man in a rubbery suit sloshing around in a pool with cheap models of a port city crumpling like the paper they are under his clumsy footsteps. As he rampages, he rears his head back, and Weiss can pinpoint the exact moment the film is cut to allow for the fire-breathing effect.

What looks like a big, orange lightbulb crashes into another paper mache building to the corny sound of people screaming in terror. The orange flashes off of the screen and dances across the hood of their car, reflecting in the glass and onto Pyrrha’s soft face; Weiss has to do a double-take when she sees the nervous expression she wears as the fictional carnage continues.

If it were anyone else, Weiss might have rolled her eyes or begun teasing whoever it was for being such a wuss about a crappy blockbuster. Instead, it’s Pyrrha, and Weiss’ brows knit in concern as she shifts closer to her in her seat. She can hear the stifled gasps of horror and surprise as she nears Pyrrha, swearing that if she were to get closer she could hear a thumping heartbeat concealed by her bronze exterior.

Weiss looks down and sees Pyrrha’s hand outstretched, palm resting against the ball of the gear shift, fingers shaking ever so slightly. Maybe Weiss is thinking a little strangely, but seeing her so obviously a little scared from the movie is anything but pathetic to her. It’s endearing, it’s adorable, and Weiss doesn’t waste a second in placing her hand overtop Pyrrha’s; Pyrrha immediately stops shaking and turns her hand over, allowing for Weiss to glide her fingers in-between Pyrrha’s.

She notes the strong grip Pyrrha has, her fingers gently but firmly holding onto her hand. Weiss takes a breath, faces her own fears, tries to muster up some of that courage from wherever it’s hiding, and begins to lightly glide her thumb along Pyrrha’s knuckles. She feels the dip of skin between every joint, soft and warm under the pad of her thumb, and feels the rise of her hand like her own heartbeat.

“Thank you,” Pyrrha murmurs against the slightest hint of a chuckle.

Weiss smiles, and the words aren’t lost on her, but she clenches her fingers around Pyrrha’s for a brief moment wordlessly; she’s sure she doesn’t need to say it.

Pyrrha’s attention returns to the screen for a moment but Weiss’ remains fixed on her face, studying the way her face moves with the sights and sounds before her, the way her mouth tugs when she’s scared and her eyes go wide in suspense when things momentarily go quiet, and soon she’s lost in the image of her, her heart’s beating in her ears the soundtrack to this much better movie.

And it’s natural; she barely needs to think about the caress of her thumb over Pyrrha’s skin, doesn’t need to try and remember the curve of Pyrrha’s nose and slope of her brow and red of her lips when she blinks for a second too long; it’s there, in her mind, and it’s just as perfect when she reopens her eyes. Maybe she could stay like this for hours, she thinks. Maybe she could stay like this forever. She certainly wouldn’t say no to that.

A loud crash causes Pyrrha to jump with a subdued whimper, and Weiss holds tightly onto her hand; somehow, Blake and Yang remain undisturbed, completely entranced in their own making out to even acknowledge that there’s an entire universe happening around them—or, more specifically, in their friend’s car.

Still, Weiss’ focus remains on Pyrrha as she breathes heavily and brings herself down from the momentary surprise from the film. “Sorry,” she says between breaths, nervously glancing at Weiss out of the corner of her eyes.

“It’s alright,” Weiss reaffirms. She pulls herself closer to Pyrrha and brings her other hand around hers, clasping it in her grasp as she spreads her thumbs across the top of her knuckles. “I’m here for you.”

“I really do appreciate it,” Pyrrha admits as a blush spreads across her cheeks. “Nora didn’t tell me this movie was actually going to be scary.”

“I’m sure it just slipped her mind,” Weiss says, not admitting that maybe it’s not actually that scary—of course, she’d never actually say that aloud, and why should she? She gets to hold Pyrrha’s hand because she’s scared of a monster flick. If anything, she should be thanking Nora for that little oversight.

Before she can continue, however, a loud smacking interrupts her, and she frustratedly looks back at Blake and Yang; could they be _any_ more disruptive?

Pyrrha looks back, too, and her input is her own eyeroll. “You know, this might be the first time Yang’s made out with a girl in the back of a car at a drive-in.”

“That’s very specific,” Weiss murmurs.

“Well, I’m not going to say it’s the first time she’s made out with a girl.”

Weiss leers; it’s not the first time Blake’s made out with a girl, either, and yet there’s something about the way that they are together. They’re the couple you write make-up and make-out and life-in-your-hands songs about, and she hates to admit that, even now, they’ve got this passion between them. It’s tangible, it’s natural, it’s far from awkward (for them, at least).

She wishes she weren’t so different.

“I’ve never made out with a girl. I’ve never even kissed a girl.”

There’s that look in Pyrrha’s eyes, and Weiss is sure she’s matching it. Her heartrate immediately picks up again, the soundtrack to her growing longing, and Weiss’ cheeks burn like the summer sun that’s finally setting.

Her admission is true, entirely true. Weiss has never made out with a girl, she’s never kissed a girl, she’s never kissed anybody but her favourite stuffed animal—and she’s sure that that doesn’t quite count. The world has spent enough time making her question everything not straight, not prim, not polished and sterilized and decorated in pearls in her life, and finally she’s here at the point where the world has had enough of her, has finally let up on placing new challenges to her true self in front of her.

Weiss can’t stop thinking about how Pyrrha’s lips might taste against her mouth.

Pyrrha faces Weiss, the surprise in her expression subdued behind a soft mask that glows in the silver light of the screen. She can imagine the thoughts she might be having like lines in a movie— _“Oh Weiss, I hope you get the chance one day!”_ —and thinks of her own lines from the script— _“But Pyrrha, you’re the chance I’m hoping for!”_

Her emerald eyes fall to Weiss’ lips and linger there for a moment before they meet her own gaze. Weiss swears she can feel tears creeping in from behind her eyes as the drumbeat of her heart picks up speed, reverberating in her ears like her head’s a stage, the overwhelming heat of her own cheeks spreading to her ears and neck and she’s sure Pyrrha can feel that heat, too.

Weiss places her hand on Pyrrha’s knee: she’s shaking, and Weiss wraps her fingers firmly around it—she hopes Pyrrha’s not scared, hopes she’s not second-guessing what she’s feeling, hopes it’s not the moment in the movie before disaster strikes.

There’s an explosion from the screen and it doesn’t faze either of them; maybe this is what it’s like to be in someone else’s universe, two bodies moving closer and closer while everything else exists in a vacuum around them. Pyrrha’s shaking has stopped and she’s dipped closer to Weiss. She can see the shine of bronze on her cheeks, the shimmer of jades in her eyes, can taste her sweet breath as they get closer, and Weiss’ lungs fill with that sweetness as her mind gives up on any thought, any fear, any doubt.

Their noses brush lightly against each others’, and it’s not enough to keep Weiss from approaching Pyrrha’s lips. The thump of each beat bounces in her chest, percussive and anxious and everything she’s hoping this moment would feel like. She’s so close, she notices, and her lungs are drowning in sweetness while her eyes are lost in that clear green she’s so fond of, and her mind breaks free from the spell for the briefest of moments for Weiss to process what she’s doing.

“I don’t know how to,” she whispers through trembling lips.

“I could show you, if you want,” Pyrrha whispers back.

Weiss doesn’t need to say a thing.

When their lips meet, it’s everything Weiss ever wanted from her first kiss.

It’s explosive, but not really. Her whole body shakes and tenses and collapses into it, anxiety and relief joining in her hands and her arms and her shoulders while her chest tightens and loosens and her heart feels like it will burst free at any moment with delight.

It’s dreamlike, but not really. In a dream, Weiss can imagine how perfectly their lips fit together, how sweet they taste against her mouth, how her breath escapes her, giving her Pyrrha’s to cling onto. It’s reality, though, and it’s all true and she can finally feel the smoothness of her lips, the faint taste of fruit in her mouth, the way she breathes with Pyrrha into the kiss that’s such a rush of relief, a release of so much she had no idea she was holding onto.

It’s perfect, really. She thinks maybe it’s how it should be in the movies, but nothing could compare to this moment in the spotlight of Pyrrha’s kiss.

Weiss is hesitant to break away, but when her lips tremble and her eyes shed tears of bliss she has no choice but to lean away, taking back her own breath as she recovers from what feels like the most beautiful rapture.

Pyrrha follows her and rests her forehead against Weiss’, ready but giving her the space she very obviously needs right then. “Wow,” Weiss exhales against Pyrrha’s face, somewhere between a sob and a giggle.

“How was that?” Pyrrha asks in a low voice.

“Perfect,” is Weiss’ initial reply, followed by: “Can we do it again?”

They don’t waste another second before their lips meet again in an explosion of bliss, and they’re back in that universe, alone together as the world collapses around them on the screen and their worlds crash together.

And Weiss can only think of how perfect this first kiss is.


End file.
